


Pretty Boy Floyd

by Miso



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: Crushes, F/M, M/M, Other, Short Chapters, Unrequited Crush, really just a bunch of tied-together vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Or: 5 People Who Have No Chance With Floyd Robertson And One Who Does.





	1. Gym Rats

**Author's Note:**

> OOPS. :'D I loved this concept so much and the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone so as usual, 3 am writing happened. I have to get up early in the morning. I make very good life choices. :3 (All of these characters are one-offs who proooooobably won't appear again unless someone asks. :P)

I spent months looking for an acceptable gym when I first moved here. I never expected to run into a drop-dead gorgeous man in the one I finally chose.

My name is Peggy Lu Reinhardt, and I'm head over heels for this guy at my gym. I live in Plattsburgh, but I go to a gym in Melonville. It's nicer than any of the ones around my place, and it's got a pool. Good for someone like me who lives for the water, especially in the winter.

I'm not doing laps today, though. It's important to mix it up so your muscles don't get used to your workouts. That, and Tall, Dark and Handsome doesn't really go near the pool except in summertime. I'm hoping he doesn't notice me staring at him from my place on the treadmills as he takes a lat machine for a spin.

He's tall, easily a foot taller than me. Thin, but not scary-skeleton thin where you can see his bones. It's more of a muscular leanness. He wears a ring on his left hand, but so do I at the gym. Maybe he doesn't want people hitting on him; I've seen plenty of people do that. _If you don't want people to hit on you, don't be so goddamned gorgeous,_ I think, before I shake my head and snap myself out of it. I turn off the treadmill and take a drink from my bottle of water, acting like I'm staring into space to relax as I watch him.

He exhales deeply and gently rubs his arms once he finishes his final rep. Goddamn. He's probably in his 40s, so it's no surprise he's here. His arms and legs, I notice, are particularly sculpted. Maybe he plays basketball or volleyball or tennis or something. I bet it's basketball. I don't really keep up with any sports besides swimming, so I wouldn't know.

Wait, shit, did he just make eye contact with me? Fuck! I try to act like I just spaced out as he approaches. He waves a little and I look up at him like I was paying absolutely no attention at all. "Uh. Hi."

"Hey, would you mind spotting me for a second? I wouldn't ask but the guy that usually spots me isn't here."

"Oh, uh, sure." I follow him to the barbell and try not to zone out too much. I have to wonder if he can smell me from his position, supine with his head awfully near my crotch, and the thought makes my legs a little weak. As hard as I try to focus, my brain goes to his gorgeous hands on me, tearing my pants off and him taking me like a wild stallion. I bet his dick is huge.

A grunt of orgasmic dominance in my daydream turns into one of legitimate effort and snaps me back to reality. I blush a little as I aid him in getting the weight back onto its rest. "Sorry about that," I say. "I just... kinda zoned a little."

"It's alright." He shrugs and smiles. "Thanks." With that, he heads for the door as a guy walks in with thick glasses and an exceptionally loud suit. Wow. No way he's here to work out. Maybe he's- wait.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome gives Coke-Bottle Glasses a kiss on the forehead and smiles. I can't make out what they're saying to each other from here, but Glasses gives him a googly-eyed look and licks his lips, and Handsome slides a hand into Glasses' back pocket as they leave.

Holy shit.

I groan aloud despite my best attempt at tact and stalk back to the treadmills. I'm not telling my usual workout buddy about this.

If he teases me one more time about falling for a guy that turned out to be gay, I might explode.


	2. Family Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man that works the liquor store shares his thoughts.

There's this guy that comes into the store now and then, usually alone, sometimes with a woman. I'm pretty sure the girl's a lesbian, and I couldn't care less about getting girls' attention anyway. The guy, though, he's a different story.

I'm Tom Landers, and I have a crush on one of my regular customers. I work at my dad's little corner liquor store in Melonville. Well, it's my dad's now, but it used to be my grandfather's. Our family business is booze. When he's ready, Dad's probably gonna hand the torch to me. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll have a handsome sugar daddy before then.

I don't know his name, so I just call him Scotch. Scotch isn't much of a scotch drinker, ironically; sure, he'll buy some now and then, but usually his purchases are bourbon or Tennessee whiskey. He's got a taste for Jack Daniels, but I've spotted bottles of Maker's Mark and some of our fancier rye whiskeys in there, too. Every now and then, usually when he's with the lady, he'll buy a case of beer (but never nasty horse piss American lager; no, he's got better taste than that) while chattering with her about a basketball game. I don't pay a lot of attention to his conversations with her.

Actually, that's something of a lie. I pay attention, but not to the words. I just like his voice. He has this gravelly, deep voice that I would love to hear growling praise into my ear as I went down on him. I bet he's big; I wonder if he'd push my head down until I choked on him.

It's a freezing cold December evening, just before Christmas, when Scotch walks in again. He waves to me, I wave back, and I pretend to clean the counter as I watch him. To my surprise, he walks right past the whiskey and beer and heads for the wine. I see him standing there, looking confused, and I call from the counter (I'm technically not allowed to leave it when there's a customer in the store unless someone else is there to man it while I'm gone): "Do you need some help?"

"Actually, yeah," he responds, and I glance around to make sure my dad or grandpa aren't around before I leave the counter and sidle up to him. He's wearing a really nice cologne and chewing his lip in concentration.

"How can I help?"

"I have something important coming up tonight and I wanted to buy some wine, but... I don't really know anything about wine." He thinks for a second. "Um, the person I'm buying it for likes sweet stuff. Like white chocolate, fruit pies, stuff like that. Anything for someone who likes that kind of thing?"

I wonder if he might be buying a gift for his friend he comes in with sometimes. I pray it's not for a girlfriend or boyfriend. "Well, I'm no wine expert," I begin, "but certain foods pair better with certain wines. Do you have a particular menu you're buying for?"

"We were just going to have some dessert."

"Dessert wines are universally sweet." I select a bottle of Riesling. "This would probably do you. Auslese Riesling is sweet without being cloying."

"... Sounds good, I suppose."

"Don't worry. Wine's confusing when you're first dipping your toe in." I smile and lead him back to the checkout counter. "Can I ask what the big event is?"

"... Promise you won't tell."

"My lips are sealed."

"It's my boyfriend's birthday. He doesn't usually drink, but he does like wine, so... I wanted to do something special for him. I figured we could drink what we don't finish tonight on Christmas."

I try not to deflate too much. He's taken. Great. "That's sweet!" I say, as genuinely as possible as I ring him up. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'm gay, too."

"... You are?" He smiles. "Good. Good, then... then you know what I mean." He's about the same color as some of our finer rose wines, so I don't push any further. He pays for his wine, then says "Thanks for your help."

"My pleasure. I hope you have a nice evening." I force my retail smile as he leaves, only to sigh and rub my temples.

Why can't I ever fall for a guy that isn't taken?


	3. The Intern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journalism intern pays his two cents.

I'm an intern. I moved to Melonville from Salt Lake City looking for a fresh start. SCTV felt like a good place for a gay ex-Mormon to carve a niche for himself. That's when I met the best and worst thing to happen to me at the same time.

I'm Lucas Richardson and I have a thing for my boss. Well, "boss" in the sense that he's the one I get coffee, retrieve dry cleaning for, et cetera et cetera. Interny stuff like that. I'm working on a degree to hopefully work in the newsroom someday- I don't want to report, I just want to write- but for now this is what I do to get by. My boss and/or human heartache's name is Floyd Robertson, and sometimes being around him is worse than torture.

He's an interesting animal. I've caught snippets of his life story from his conversations with his co-anchor and the few friends he seems to have around here; he grew up in a religious home that was apparently unsavory as he bailed the first chance he really got. Went through Vietnam and ended up here. I don't know much more; he isn't very talkative towards people he doesn't know well. Most of my conversations with him consist of "here's the thing you asked for" and a terse "thank you" before he goes back to his work. 

"I don't get it," I mention to another intern over lunch in the news room. Her name is Louise Bright, smart as a whip and infinitely better at reading people than I am. "I've tried everything short of showing up naked and draping myself over his desk to get him to notice me but it doesn't work! I mean, I know he's gay!" My gaydar hasn't failed me yet and I refuse to believe it has now. "What middle-aged gay guy in his right mind isn't interested in a freckle-faced 20 year old with a cute butt?"

"The kind that's already taken," Louise intones as she sips her water. "I'm pretty sure he's seeing Camembert."

"Camembert?!" I snort and laugh. "Please. They hate each other. You watch the same news I do, right?"

"I think that's all for the cameras. Caballero likes it because it pulls in the ratings to see two people who hate each other forced to sit next to each other and read boring news items." She nibbles on a cracker. "But they don't hate each other. Have you ever seen the way they look at each other when they're not being filmed? Camembert gets this goo-goo eyed look on his face and goes all melty." She laughs softly. "It's actually kind of cute."

"But... there's no way Camembert's his type!" I barely avoid knocking over my bottle of soda with a wild gesture. "I've dated guys like him before, Louise, they're all really snarly and intense tops! They LOVE guys like me!"

"Opposites attract," she replies with a shrug. Louise glances over my shoulder and nods her head. "Look for yourself."

I turn and peek into the open door of Robertson's office. I feel my jaw hit the floor as I spot Camembert in Robertson's lap, straddling him and giggling like a love-struck schoolgirl as Robertson's hands support him, gently placed between his shoulders and at the small of his back. I can't hear what they're saying to each other, but Robertson smirks and whispers something into Camembert's ear, following it up with a gentle bite. Camembert blushes, the color of the apple now sitting abandoned on Robertson's desk, and giggles again.

"... You're _shitting me._ " I turn to Louise and repeat myself. "You're shitting me."

"Does it look like I am?" Louise finishes her lunch and stands. "Sorry, Lucas."

Suddenly, my appetite's gone. I sigh heavily and gather up my trash before skulking back to work.

I guess I'm officially on the market.


	4. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SCTV's receptionist has a thing, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: Orion is genderfluid, and uses ze/zir/zirs/zirself pronouns in this story. I try to be respectful, so if anything about zir feels disrespectful, please let me know!

I'm a secretary. I prefer the term "front desk associate," but we all know that's just code for secretary. SCTV is a quiet place to work, usually, when something silly isn't happening. I just work the desk. I don't see much of the "stars" except when they arrive in the mornings and leave in the evenings. Most of them are nothing to write home about. Sammy Maudlin is one of the few genuinely sweet people that work here; so sweet, in fact, he'll rot your teeth if he so much as opens his mouth. Bobby Bittman is exactly the kind of narcissist you wouldn't expect to be dating a nice person like Sammy Maudlin. Earl Camembert is a little scatterbrained, but I don't think he's got a mean bone in his body either. Lola Heatherton is... interesting, in her own Lola-ish way. Then there's the head of our news department.

I'm Kathleen Norris, and I'm falling for the lead anchor. How could I not? Any single woman interested in men would. He's tall, he's handsome, he's smart, he's well-employed, and he's... well, I won't say nice, but he doesn't seem _especially_ rude. I've always chalked up his failure to make small talk with me to either shyness or not being a morning person who is then exhausted by the time he gets off work in the evening. I've been through a few people in the time I've lived in Melonville; men, women, someone who was neither, someone who was both, someone who fluctuated between the two. None of them worked out for a variety of reasons; they'd move, or they'd be allergic to my dog, or I'd be allergic to their cat, or we just wouldn't click as well as I'd hoped. Most of them are still friends of mine. The genderfluid ex, Orion, visits me at work all the time, to have lunch together; sometimes we hang out after I'm off for the night, too. Right now, ze's leaning on my desk as we chat and wait for my shift to be over, and I've made the mistake of getting all googly-eyed when I offhandedly mention the news guys are getting off work soon, and that means I get to see our head anchor.

"You have a thing for the head anchor?"

"Kinda... I mean, he's... you'd understand if you saw him."

"I watch the news, Katie. Which one's the head anchor? I didn't think nerdy dudes were your type."

"Oh, no. No, no, Earl's sweet, but he's not my type at all." I smile a little and gesture at the picture we have framed on the wall in the lobby of the two news anchors seated at the desk. Earl beams at the camera with a big, doofy smile. Floyd looks more like he's set to beat the cameraman to a pulp. "The grumpy one."

"Ohhhh." Orion nods and a smirk spreads on zir face. "I get it. He's cute, but... doesn't he come off as a little standoffish?"

"I wouldn't say that. I think he's just shy."

"He's a reporter. How can he be shy?"

"Talking to a camera is different from talking to people. You know that." Orion was an aspiring actor before ze figured out that ze had basically no acting skills at all. Ze shrugs and smiles a little in a 'you got me there' fashion.

I perk up a little when I hear the door to the rest of the building open. Floyd and Earl walk out side by side. They don't hate each other as much as they act like they do on TV; they seem to actually get along alright. "Have a nice night, Floyd! You too, Earl!"

"Oh, um, I'm not leaving." Earl smiles a little. He turns to Floyd and says, softly, "See you at home. Don't wait up."

I'm about to ask what he's talking about when they lean in and peck each other on the lips, gently, like a married couple that have been together for years. I hope I don't look too slack-jawed as Floyd smiles at Earl and says "You know I will anyway," before rubbing his nose against Earl's and exiting the building.

Earl turns and vanishes back into the studios, and I'm left dumbfounded. I hear a soft snort at my side, followed by Orion cracking up. "Oh, man," ze begins, "Never would've seen that coming." Ze wipes zir eyes and turns to me. "You have the worst luck. Seriously."

I pout a little. "I'm surprised, but I feel like I shouldn't be." I shrug as I shoulder my purse and jacket. "Come on. It's late, it's quitting time, and I'm hungry."


	5. Camera Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cameraperson throws their hat in the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mason is nonbinary and uses they/them/their/themself pronouns. :)

I'm a cameraperson. I use 'they' pronouns, and I work at the one place I've found that respects that 100%. SCTV is a great place; everything is somehow normal and off-the-wall at the same time. Most of the staff here sits somewhere in the LGBT acronym. Sammy Maudlin, the host of our one well-rated talk show, is gay and trans; I'm one of the few people trusted with that. He's dating Bobby Bittman, who... well, no one's quite sure about him, because he always says he doesn't have time to figure it out when he's asked, but I think he's probably bi. There's Earl Camembert, the adorable and frankly flaming anchor, and then... then there's our head newsman.

I'm Mason Parker, and I might have just a teeny little bit of a crush on Floyd Robertson. It sucks. While I lend my efforts all over the SCTV studios, I'm mostly employed with the news. I'm around him constantly, and I get to see him staring at me. I know he's looking into the camera, but I like to think it's me.

He's the most handsome man I've ever met. Quiet, sure, at least around people he doesn't know. Intense, focused, driven, and knowledgeable are a few words I've heard thrown around to refer to him. Sometimes when we're taping I watch him as opposed to focusing on my job; he has these beautiful hazel eyes that look gold in the studio light, and every now and then I see so much pain brimming behind them. I've seen that look before; in friends and family. Something eats at him from the inside, but I don't know what.

I've gotten a few context clues; I see it on hard-hitting stories about child abuse, domestic violence, war, things like that. I notice his eyes glaze over just a bit and his voice become just a little more monotone. Usually, he's recovered after Earl's read his item, but sometimes it lasts. I've never seen him more vulnerable than that, but I would love to. I've always been the "parent friend," the one who sees pain and fear and has to fix it.

It's a little unorthodox, but I daydream about finding him in a moment where he really needs someone and giving him a shoulder to cry on. I listen to him pour his heart out to me, maybe he sheds a manly tear or two, we kiss after I dry his tears and tell him he doesn't need to be upset because I'll keep him safe and stop the demons from hurting him. I know it doesn't work like that, it's not that easy, but I like to think maybe I can be a hero like that sometimes. Even if it is just in my own brain.

I'm passing by his office one afternoon when I hear two voices inside. One is his, and it sounds panicked. The other I can't make out at first, but I quickly identify it as Earl, his co-anchor. I know they don't hate each other the way they act like they do, but I never would have pegged them for being close friends. I notice the door is open, just a crack, and I peek in.

Floyd's trembling, planted in his chair, his head in his hands and tears occasionally dripping off his chin onto his desk. Behind him, Earl rubs his back in gentle circles. "It's alright," he says quietly, gently. "Just let it out."

"I can't," Floyd whispers, through choked gasps. "I can't."

"It's okay," Earl repeats, crouching beside Floyd and continuing to rub his back. "Talk to me... what's wrong?"

Floyd is quiet for a second, then he takes a shuddering breath and murmurs, "I... I had a bad dream last night."

"The cave dream?"

Floyd shakes his head slowly, then whispers, "I hurt you. I... I hit you. I called you all the awful shit my father called me." He sobs quietly. "Y-you know. The f-word. Even worse, sometimes." He wipes his eyes. "And you just... you just took it. You didn't fight me or try to say anything. And... and I don't remember much else but I remember right before I woke up I looked down and... there was blood everywhere and..." Floyd sobs harshly. "And I thought I was okay because it was _just a dream_ but then that item about... about the guy that beat his girlfriend to death, and..."

"Shhhhh." To my surprise, Earl draws Floyd into an embrace, and I feel my eyebrows raise. "Shhh, shhh, shhh." He strokes Floyd's hair gently, letting him sob into his chest. "It was a dream. I know you wouldn't do that. You know you wouldn't do that." Floyd grips Earl's shirt and hiccups, and I feel my heartstrings get tugged just a bit harder than they already were. "I'm here. I know you wouldn't hurt me."

Floyd cries for a few minutes, then seems to pull himself together and sits up. "I... mmnh. I'm sorry." He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "You... you don't need to go through this every time I-"

"Baby, I don't mind." Baby? "I love you." Well, shit. Earl caresses Floyd's cheek gently and smiles. "If I don't help you through the rough patches, what kind of boyfriend would I be?"

With that, they kiss, and I back up and leave before I get caught eavesdropping. It stings a little, but I catch myself smiling a little bit.

I'm just glad he has someone who loves him so much to cry to.


	6. We Lucky Few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There can be only one victor.

He's the most jaw-dropping specimen I've ever seen. He's all gold eyes and chocolate hair and sharp angles. He smells like whiskey and cologne and coffee and fabric softener. He's tall and muscular and smart and well-spoken. And above all, he's mine.

My name is Earl Camembert, and I've fallen hopelessly in love with my co-anchor turned boyfriend. We didn't like each other at first. I thought he was an arrogant dick, and he thought I was a stupid kid. But fuck if I didn't think he was the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on. The things I thought about him were obscene. Honestly, they still are, but now I know I can vocalize those thoughts and have them actually acted out on me.

I've noticed the looks he gets from other people. A woman at his gym, the guy that works at the liquor store, the intern from Utah, the receptionist, one of the camerapeople. I don't pay them any mind. I don't think he does, either. If he does, it just makes him more handsy, and I'm not about to complain. One of my favorite memories to revisit is one midsummer night, when we left work, it was still light, and the sun was just setting. We went to a park, sat on a hill, and watched the sun, his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, and he kissed the top of my head. I think he thought I was dozing off, because he said the sweetest thing I've ever heard from him, to this day.

"You're the only person I've ever felt like this for," he'd whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you so much. I promise, I'll never leave you. Please never leave me." And with that he pulled me into his lap and held me tight until the sun dipped below the horizon.

On really stressful days, I still like to go back to that evening. It's still not as good as coming home and falling into his arms, pressing my lips to his and feeling his hands on me. I've never really said it, but he's the first person I've ever felt like this for, too. We've both had boyfriends before, but he's the first man to make my heart soar and my stomach flip even after all this time. I've never turned over in the morning, been greeted by a boyfriend's sleeping face, and just felt my heart melt. Not until him.

Tonight, he's reclined on the couch, thumbing through a book with the TV on in the background. I'm trying to busy myself with a crossword puzzle, but I can't focus. He's too distracting in his old, ratty T-shirt and the amusingly goofy pajama pants he likes. These have a print of corgi puppies. I set my paper aside and walk to his side, stroking his hair gently. He glances up and smiles, a real, genuine smile. I'm probably the only person that gets those on a regular basis.

"Hey." He dog-ears the page of his book and sets it aside. "What do you need, doll?" I love it when he calls me that. It makes me wish I had a cutesy name for him besides 'baby'. I shrug a little and smile back at him.

"I don't know. Maybe some snuggles."

"I can do that." His smile grows and he sits up. "On one condition."

"Oh?"

He pauses. I can see him preparing to bring the wall down a little; ever since we got together I've been slowly dismantling the fortress he built around his heart to stop it from ever being broken again. I like to think I've made progress. One more brick slides out of place when he speaks. "If you hold me."

I physically feel warm fuzzies spread through me as I settle onto the couch, lean against the arm, and reach for him. Usually, he only lets me do this when he's coming down from a panic attack. He feels like he needs to protect, to keep me safe. It's flattering, but I like protecting him, too.

He nestles against me, and I tangle my fingers into his hair. I kiss his forehead as he sighs happily and lays his head on my chest. I can almost feel the wall of ice he built up to protect himself melting as I brush his bangs out of his face and smile.

I love him more than anything. When we're together like this, I genuinely feel like the luckiest guy on Earth. Neither of us speak as we lay together, his head over my heartbeat.

It's funny watching other people wish they could have him. It just makes going home and knowing he's all mine that much sweeter.


End file.
